


A Mid-Bunker Night's Dream

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking, Men of Letters Headquarters, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Men of Letters bunker is full, and love is in the recycled, underground air! People are falling to Cupid’s arrows left and right—but who’s the crack shot behind the bow? A cute little redheaded hacker, or the King of Hell? Or could it be the cleverest trickster of them all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mid-Bunker Night's Dream

“Wow. King of Hell. That’s huge.”

Charlie crouched down in the Men of Letters archive, just outside the Devil’s Trap that held Crowley. The Winchesters had put him back here when the angels fell.

The girl was annoyingly cheerful and chatty. None of his usual black-hearted manipulations had any effect on her. He told himself it was because he didn’t know much about her, but when had that ever stopped him? Maybe it was because of what Sam had done to him, corrupting his beautiful darkness with—

“So you’re, what, basically pure evil?”

Where were all his witty quips, his acidic and hilarious comebacks? She was a tiny, weak, human _nerd,_ for Hell’s sake. “Yes,” he said, going for dangerous in his tone, but ending with something more like sullen.

“Huh.” She didn’t look impressed. Or convinced. “Are you bored?”

Bored? _Bored?_ Could that simple word even begin to convey the ennui, the extreme horror that was so much worse than any torment, even daytime television? Of course he was bored.

“With your company, my dear? How could I possibly be?”

“I’m not supposed to be talking to you,” she said cheerfully. “But here’s the thing. Those Winchester boys? They’re smart, but they don’t always read between the lines. I see things they don’t see. And I know what they need. It just so happens that it ties in really well with what you need.”

Crowley waited. He wanted the upper hand, of course, and the King of Hell never asks. But boredom was winning at the moment, and the heavy application of sarcasm, along with a good, smug, nonchalant expression, would go a long way toward preserving his cool, devil-may-care (pun intended) reputation. “And what do I need?” he asked drippingly.

He almost flinched at the little redhead’s completely knowing grin. She wasn’t even slightly fooled. “A distraction,” she said. “Something to _do._ And I know just the thing.”

~* * *~

“Eat up, big guy,” said Gabriel, popping suddenly into the kitchen of the bunker. He set a large, steaming crockpot in front of Sam and handed him a spoon. “It’s Stage 1 of my fancy, two-part, archangel cure-all system. Guaranteed to heal what ails ya.”

Sam eyed him suspiciously. Always with the suspicion, these humans. Just because he’d killed his brother hundreds of times, the Moose didn’t trust him!

“What is it?” Sam asked, sniffing. Then the scent hit him, and Gabriel was gratified (more than he would like to admit) to see the poor, sickly wretch’s eyes light up, just a little.

“Jambalaya, from a little shack near Dry Prong, Louisiana. Just-right spicy and full of down-home goodness. A favorite of yours truly.” He executed a little bow.

Sam picked up the spoon. “Dry Prong?” he said, with understandable disbelief. 

“Not once we’re done with Stage 2,” Gabriel said, with a wicked grin.

~* * *~

Dean was having a flare-up of his angel allergy. Since Gabriel had waltzed back into their lives, he’d gritted his teeth and tolerated it, because it was useful to have an archangel in your pocket. Gabriel had to look out for his de-graced little brother, he said, and Dean didn’t want that job, so more power to him. Plus, his archangel powers might be the only thing that could heal Sam, since regular old angel healing had failed.

So he sighed when Cas, hangdog as usual, walked into the room, even though his heart actually lifted at the sight. And what was _that_ about lately? Whenever he saw the former angel…

“Hello, Dean,” Cas morosely interrupted his thoughts.

“Cas,” Dean acknowledged, trying to pretend that annoyance was all he felt at the strangely thrilling sound of the gruff voice. “How’re the human lessons going?”

“Not very well. Apparently there are some things I can’t learn without a partner.” He cleared his throat.

Dean sighed. He’d thought this was coming. He put down his copy of Voluptuous Asian Lovelies and stood up. “All right, what do you need back-up for? If Gabriel is trying to trick us back onto that tandem bike—”

Dean didn’t think he’d ever been as surprised in his life as when Cas gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulled him close, and kissed him, right on the mouth.

~* * *~

“You’ll be glad to hear that everything is proceeding exactly according to plan,” said Charlie, rubbing her palms together greedily. Crowley shook his head. And he was supposed to be the evil one, he reflected, as she came out with a fairly creditable sinister cackle.

“Everyone enjoying carnal bliss?” he asked drily.

“Soon enough,” said Charlie, and sighed, abruptly dropping her Machiavellian demeanor. _“Someone_ around here has to get laid, if I can’t. The place isn’t exactly girl-love friendly.”

“Hmmm, I know yet another _lovely_ redhead like yourself who might—”

“Don’t even _say_ it! I don’t do evil women. Well, I might _do_ them, but not demons. I draw the line at demons. Besides, Dean would _kill_ me. Maybe literally.”

Crowley wondered if this was supposed to stop him. “And would that be out of jealousy, do you think, or disapproval? Because he and my Abby—”

“Nuh uh. No _way,”_ said Charlie. “Besides, I told you. I’m interested in mining all the manly gay sexual tension around these parts.” She eyed him speculatively. “If you just weren’t _so_ evil…”

“Doesn’t have to be a man for me, darling,” Crowley said. “And I can look like whomever you want. You were saying about girl-love?” He briefly turned into Charlize Theron, and Charlie gave a tremendous squeak before covering her mouth.

“Wow, you really are evil,” she said, eying the low neckline of his leather bustier, a little breathlessly. “But again, no way, mister. I still _know_ you’re a mister.”

“Thought you wanted to have some fun,” Crowley mused, lapsing back into his usual form.

“There’s fun, and then there’s batshit, and I _try_ not to cross that line. Not more than once or twice a month, anyway. Tops.” Charlie folded her arms primly, but quickly surrendered to another wicked grin. “I’m gonna go plant another suggestion,” she said, holding up the charm Crowley had helped her make. “Think I’ll try Sam this time. He hasn’t caved yet, and if anyone needs to get laid, it’s him.” 

She trotted gaily up the stairs. Crowley tried to pretend he wasn’t sorry to see her go.

~* * *~

Charlie grinned evilly as she snuck into Sam’s room. If she had her way, he wouldn’t be spending another night here alone. In her opinion, he and Gabriel were the perfect couple—and besides, a little good lovin’ would _have_ to accelerate the archangelic healing process. Gabriel hadn’t been able to talk Sam into “Stage 2” yet, himself—mostly, Charlie was sure, because Sam assumed he was joking. How else could he resist Gabriel? Heck, if the golden-eyed trickster had been a girl, Charlie would’ve been all over that. A good sense of humor and a quirky, charming smile were a perfect love-recipe in Charlie’s cookbook, and if gloomy-Gus Sam couldn’t see that… well, she’d just have to _help_ him see it.

The Suggestion Charms were genius. Charlie had double-checked everything after Crowley had made the first one, and for once the demon wasn’t lying. They really were harmless, and they only worked to bring subconscious thoughts to the surface, and make people forget why they hadn’t acted on them already. They had made for some fun times between Cas and Dean already. Charlie was frankly relieved about that. The sexual tension between those two had been enough to make her teeth hurt—and then the sounds from Dean’s room had been enough to make her _ears_ hurt. But they made her heart happy, and Crowley had been amused, which Charlie thought was the sure path back to humanity for him, as long as the amusement didn’t come from something ugly and evil. Perhaps the Winchesters had forgotten about curing him, but she hadn’t. She wanted to see it done, and she wanted to see some love happening, and she was a girl who was used to getting what she wanted.

She had planted the charm under Sam’s mattress and had turned for the door when she gasped, clutching her heart. Gabriel had popped out of thin air right next to her, as he was prone to doing—but this time, there was someone with him. _Gilda._ The fairy Dean had cock-blocked her from banging! She was here, and as hot as ever…

“Charlie Bradbury,” said the fairy in her misty voice. “My heart is glad to see you again.” 

Gabriel was grinning smugly at Charlie from behind Gilda. Charlie cleared her throat. “Uh, as is mine, to behold you.” _My heart isn’t the only thing that’s glad._ “But… how did you…” She looked at Gabriel questioningly.

“You think you’re the only one with a few surprises up her sleeve, chica?” said Gabriel, with his customary smirk. “I brought dear Gilda for a visit. Her sweet pumpkin ride back home arrives at midnight, per tradition, so make the most of your time.” He winked at her. “Don’t see why you should be the only one around here _not_ getting laid. Which you would have been, after implementation of Stage 2 tonight.”

“Laid?” said Gilda, with completely _adorable,_ panty-dissolving naivete. 

But Charlie was watching Gabriel, who neatly plucked the Suggestion Charm from under the mattress. She gulped and tried to look puzzled or shocked to see it, but Gabriel just grinned at her.

“Oh, you thought I didn’t know?” he said. “Ah, sweetheart. You’re talking to an _expert_ here. When you have a millennium or two of trickster experience under your belt, then we’ll see if you can put one past me. But never doubt it—felling the Moose was _my_ idea. And I won’t be needing any help from _this._ ” He snapped his fingers as he dropped the charm, and it disappeared in midair. “Good job with Dean and my little bro, though. You got potential, kid. Now run along.” Gabriel flopped on Sam’s bed and stretched his arms overhead, arching an eyebrow at Charlie when she didn’t immediately respond.

She shook herself out of her daze. “Uh… right. Let’s roll, Gilda. We’ve got a few… sights to see while you’re here.” She cleared her throat, and took the fairy by the hand with unwonted shyness. But Gilda warmly squeezed back, and if there was a knowing glint in her eye beneath the innocent veneer, Charlie wasn’t complaining.

~* * *~

Sam closed his laptop with a sigh. He couldn’t see the point of working right now—really, Dean was right. His job was to get better. Besides, his brother wasn’t exactly duty-minded at the moment, either. Sam wondered if he and Cas were _ever_ coming out of Dean’s bedroom. The walls of the bunker were thick, fortunately. Sam just planned not venture into that particular hallway until the pair emerged of their own accord.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. If Sam had ever had the energy to spare, he’d planned on telling Dean to just get over the whole gay hang-up already, and go ahead and bone the bejesus out of Cas. Who was also, obviously, quite open to the idea. Sam did wonder what had finally tipped the scales, but mostly, he was just glad the two most important people in his life were happy, for the time being.

It occurred to him, belatedly and uncharacteristically, to consider his own happiness now. The whole Amelia thing still smarted, as did the lost dream of returning to a normal life—going back to college, trying out a regular job that might just challenge him intellectually, all those ephemeral hopes. Dying for a great cause had been the next-best alternative, but now that was out the window, too… and Sam found that he didn’t mind. For now, just breathing felt amazing. He coughed experimentally as he thought this. No blood, and his lungs didn’t rattle the way they had just a few days ago. He knew he had Gabriel to thank for it.

Gabriel. Sam had been stunned at how glad he was to see the archangel, mysteriously returned from the dead. It was hard to forget that Gabriel had been responsible for some of the absolute worst moments in Sam’s life, but looking back on that endless loop of Tuesdays, Sam thought he understood now. He saw a weird sort of compassion in what Gabriel had done, trying to force him to let go of his unhealthy attachment to his brother. To accept mortality—both his own, which wasn’t so hard, and Dean’s, which was much harder. It hadn’t worked at the time—Sam had had to dive right down to the bottom of that abyss, in his own special Winchester way, before he could come through to the other side. But now, his feelings toward Gabriel were… different.

For one, Gabriel had been willing to die (and had?) for the cause of free will—the only denizen of heaven who had shown the Winchesters that kind of devotion, not counting Cas. Just when their straits had been at their most dire—himself nearly dead, Cas fallen and hunted by angels, and Dean, lost and at his wits’ end, with no one to help him since Sam couldn’t—Gabriel had returned. He was still snarky and prone to practical jokes, of course, but he’d brought Sam back from the brink of death, and was now slowly returning him to health.

Sam found, when he was able to stop seeing dozens of dead Deans every time he looked at him, that he rather enjoyed Gabriel’s company. It had taken a weird turn lately, with all the… flirting? Sam couldn’t take it seriously, but then he wondered if he should. What if, the next time Gabriel said something suggestive, Sam just went for it, and made a move? It had never occurred to him to sleep with a man, let alone an angel, but then again, he’d never been particularly successful in romances with women… and there was something genderless, and _sexy,_ about Gabriel. Life was short—if not quite as short as Sam had once hoped—so why not take a chance?

Contemplating this, he headed to his room for yet another healing nap, with a pair of warm, gold-hazel eyes floating through his thoughts. He was surprised when he opened his door to meet those same eyes in reality, regarding him with frank, appreciative lust. He blinked dazedly as he absorbed the startling vision of Gabriel in his bed, clothed in nothing but rose petals, with a rose clenched in his teeth. 

Gabriel took the rose out of his mouth and tossed it to Sam, who caught it reflexively. “Hey, beautiful, listen. You and me—why don’t we just cut to the chase? I got a dozen ways to trick you into bed. If you wanted to resist, you don’t stand a chance. But I’d rather you just… wanted this. And I think you do. So why don’t you just come over here…” he patted the petal-strewn sheets beside him, “and we’ll get started with Stage 2? I can make you feel a _whole_ lot better.”

For the first time in God knows how long, Sam smiled, and closed the door firmly behind him.

~* * *~

Crowley listened with his enhanced senses to all the sounds of bliss—human, angelic, and fairy, male and female, carnal and innocent—that drifted through the bunker. He told himself he was mostly disgusted. Possibly a little triumphant that his manipulations, born out of _only_ a desire to mess with the Winchesters and their pet angels, had worked.

But had they, really? Had he done anything at all, except possibly speed up the inevitable? And what he felt, listening to all the moans and sighs and poetic declarations that ought to make him sick… well, whatever name he put to it, it was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

He’d admitted to Charlie that he was bored. What he hadn’t admitted, which had become increasingly obvious when she’d stopped visiting every hour or two to report on the results of her machinations, was that he was _lonely._ As King of Hell, there had always been a toadying demon or two just around the corner, ready to participate in some devious dealings or a pleasant round of torture anytime Crowley was so inclined. But he didn’t miss that. No, what he missed had happened so long ago that even his perfect memory couldn’t find the shape of it… couldn’t quite remember what it had been like to be human. Moment by moment, he was being painfully reminded.

Because there was something else he hadn’t told Charlie. His constraint, what was imprisoning him, had changed. Before, he had barely noticed the physical restraints tying him to the chair. It was the Devil’s Trap, and all the anti-demonic signs and sigils all over the bunker, that held him. He could feel their constant burn, weakening him, putting all his powers beyond his reach. But before, he could still feel his power, slithering beneath the surface, constantly seeking chinks in the armor, ready to burst out of him at the first opportunity.

Now all that was gone. He didn’t feel the burn of the Devil’s Trap or the barely-suppressed rage of his demonic power. He felt… tired, and a little sick. Hungry. The bonds around his wrists and ankles chafed… but, he slowly came to realize, they were all that was holding him. 

He tried not to think about what that meant. Instead, knowing that the other occupants of the bunker were very distracted at the moment, he began methodically sawing the weak point of his wrist bonds against the back of his chair, knowing that they would eventually break. He would be free.

He tried not to think, then what?

~* * *~

Gabriel sighed, his breath stirring the lush caramel locks that fell into his face. Sam’s breathing had finally slowed, then deepened as he fell asleep, his ridiculously long limbs draped over Gabriel in a delightful jumble. Gabriel caressed him, planting a kiss just below the impossibly charming widow’s peak on the giant’s forehead.

His thoughts ranged to his other projects. Charlie, and even Crowley, might think they had orchestrated these liaisons, but of course it had been him. Who better? He was satisfied with Crowley’s progress back toward humanity, too. His satisfaction increased as he tuned into angel radio, private frequency, and heard Cas’s thoughts, still audible to him even though Cas had lost his grace. His little brother was absolutely thrumming with happiness; so much so that Gabriel could hear Dean’s pleasure and satisfaction through him. Now there was a match made in heaven. When he’d returned, he couldn’t believe those two hadn’t done the deed yet, and obviously that was something he had to remedy.

Charlie was happy, too. Her satisfaction stemmed not just from getting laid—she rarely had trouble in that department—but from believing she had engineered the happiness of her friends. Gabriel was glad to let her have that. She certainly deserved it—that girl had no idea how brightly her light shone. Just desserts were his specialty, and much as he had always enjoyed punishing the wicked, it was nice when justice was something positive for once.

He allowed himself a good, long soak in this rapturous feeling. He’d never deprived himself of carnal satisfaction, but he hadn’t had a lay like this in ages. Sam was… well. _Special._ He held himself to that adjective when others—divine, delicious, talented, magnificent—danced through his head. He gazed down at the incomparably beautiful body tangled up with his and smiled contemplatively. He might have to make a habit of this.

God might not be in his heaven, Gabriel reflected, but for now, all was right with the world.

~The End~


End file.
